


kiss away my aches

by AllisonDiamond



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Mute Jaskier, Non-Consensual Touching, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, it's mentioned in one line, temporarily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllisonDiamond/pseuds/AllisonDiamond
Summary: After his quarrels with Geralt, Jaskier had ran away, and found himself in the Nilfgaardian Empire. Penniless and voiceless, he fought to survive daily until he was rescued by Geralt. Now he had to face all the horrible things he went through in that awful place, find his voice again, and somehow, somewhere along his journey, he started to see Geralt in a different light. As a potential partner and not just as a friend. But Geralt was with Yennefer, wasn't he?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 210
Kudos: 1280





	1. cold winters

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought this would be my first dive into writing for The Witcher fandom. You see, that was supposed to be for my crack ship Geralt/Maxwell Trevelyan (aka the idiot in my profile and the Inquistor in DAI if you play video games). I've been planning that fic for months, a fic that nobody wants to read, but one I really, really want to write. But I watched The Witcher (show) and I guess I had an itch to write a fic with these two. So here we go! I'm a shit writer but I hope this isn't too bad.

Jaskier pulled the thin worn wool blanket closer to his thin, shivering form. It was awfully cold tonight, colder than it had been thus far in the Nilfgaardian Empire. That wasn’t saying much as it was always cold in the Nilfgaardian Empire now, more so in the nights than anything. 

How he wished he had used his last coins to purchase that thick, wooly coat he had seen the other day. It would be a very needed distraction from the hunger pangs in his stomach. Jaskier twisted and turned on his corner in the old, abandoned bar, swallowing nervously as dark black beady eyes bore into his.

A scream tore at his throat but nothing came out. All he could hear was the scurrying footsteps of the rats, the dripping from the old rusty roof, the grumbling of his stomach, and the slow, steady beating of his heart. 

It had been so long since he heard another speak. Most outrightly avoided him now after he lost his beautiful singing voice. That was two, three months ago; a week since he had a warm meal in him. A lady at the court, Lady Nirvana de Cortana, had taken pity on him, and given him two gold coins. She was a cruel lady and had mocked him, cruelly so, saying that they should have burned his kind. He wasn’t sure what she meant.

Nevertheless, Jaskier had readily accepted the coins, and when the hunger became too much, he had no choice but to use those coins on food and water. The stream he used to drink water from, and the trees that gave him wonderful, delicious edible berries, were now tainted with the dark magic of the Nilfgaardian’s sorceress, and smeared with the blood of innocent travelers from the other lands. 

There were times he wondered why he was still alive, why they spared his life. It wasn’t as if he had the ability to share the tales of his adventures through his songs any longer. Truly, what was a bard without his voice?

His music meant the world to him, and when they took that away from him, a part of him died. Still, he fought, and will continue fighting till his last breath.

Granted, he was no fighter. Oh, no, him, Jaskier being a fighter, that was laughable! Absurd, really. He was a coward, scared shitless at the sight of a spider; however, being a coward in the Nilfgaardian Empire was a death sentence, and Jaskier wanted to live, very much so. Being voiceless was even worse than that. Having no voice meant he had no way of talking his way out of bad situations. If he still had his voice, he would have been able to sing, earn his wages from singing in the bars, share the bed of a couple exotic beauties, and get out of this shithole.

Oh, and find Geralt, and beg him to take him back as his traveling companion. He would have tried to keep his mouth shut more often if that was what Geralt wanted. He would do anything to be back by Geralt’s side, even make nice with that witch, Yennefer, if Geralt was still with her, which of course, he was. She was beautiful, strong, and powerful. All traits Geralt liked in his partners. 

Jaskier would know! Throughout the years, Geralt had been with many women, all equally beautiful and powerful, and with the occasional gentleman in the mix, but none had made Geralt shone like a gem in the sunlight like Yennefer did.

He hoped they were happy and living peacefully in a cottage by a lake. It was what Geralt deserved. A nice peaceful life with the woman he loves.

Ignoring the aches and pains of his weary and tired body, he closed his eyes, and tried to will the hunger pangs away. Only if he wasn’t such a jokester, he wouldn’t have gotten into that quarrel with Geralt, and picked his stuff and left right after the battle. He should have stayed back and fixed things with Geralt instead of running away.

He didn’t and he was here now in a dark and cruel world where the streets were tainted with blood, food was scarce, and Jaskier, once the bard with the voice of the angels (not that he was told that), was now voiceless and penniless. And homeless, he didn’t want to add the last part. But it was true, and after a couple of hours, when the rats went back into hiding, and the spiders went to sleep, Jaskier finally went to sleep, dreaming of nothing but of a gruff Witcher and his beautiful yellow eyes that was the sun itself.

* * *

Jaskier was awoken to harsh whisperings coming from a man and a woman nearby, he believed. Oh shit, he was found out! He quickly opened his eyes, ignoring the pounding in his skull, and hurriedly picked up his belongings. The worn-out blanket and a lute he had picked up on his travels.

He needed to get out of here fast. He couldn’t afford to be found out. He had no coins to pay his way out of a beating. He was lucky to avoid them thus far and he would like to keep it like that.

Ignoring the protests from his bare feet as he stepped over broken shards on the cold, hard floor, he ran and ran, looking for the exit. Until he came into direct with a hard, sturdy chest.

Shit. He was utterly screwed now. He closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.

Surprisedly, he found a rough yet a warm hand lifting him by his chin, forcing him to look up into… Jaskier refused to open his eyes. Until he heard a low grunt coming from the man he had ran into. He believed it was the man. It could be the woman.

Gulping nervously, he opened his eyes, clenched his hands into two tight balls, and was ready to take on the man, woman, whoever it was. When he was faced with a lovely shade of yellow irises that only belonged to one person, one Witcher, his mind went blank.

“Jaskier,” said his Witcher in a low, grunt voice.

Jaskier licked his dry, cracked lips. _Geralt,_ he mouthed.


	2. trapped

Jaskier longed to feel warmth from another. He had been cooped up in this dark, smelly, disgusting bar from over two months now, and never once, had he met another soul, breathed in the same air as an actual person except for that one merchant but he always locked up his shop as soon as he saw Jaskier approaching. He did have those sneaky rats, those sly buggers, and on occasions, he found himself playing his lovely tunes for them. Just because Jaskier was without his voice didn’t mean he had to live without music in his life.

Still, it got awfully lonely, and cold, oh so cold. He shivered at the thought. There was one time when his fingers got a very breathtaking shade of blue, almost as deep as the Continent’s bluest rivers, but lighter than the midnight sky. And right there and then, Jaskier thought for sure he was going to lose his hand. 

Thankfully, he was able to warm his beautiful, magical fingers with his body heat. That was back when he was able to put food in his belly, and when his bones hadn’t frozen deep inside of him due to the spell.

Hah, a frozen cold heart. How many a fools had he heard of his journeys complain about how their jilted lovers suffered from an incurable ailment, the curse of the frozen hearts.

Oh, those poor, naive fools.

As much as Jaskier would like to reach out, pull Geralt in, breathe in his strong dirt and wood scent, he couldn’t take that risk. What if it wasn’t Geralt? What if that sorceress —Fringilla, was it? — had worn his face, or better yet, convinced that thing, the creature who wore the skins of others and took over their bodies, minds, and souls to… Oh no. His heart hampered heavily in his chest.

Geralt wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be! He had taken on mightier men, women, and creatures alike than that thing!

Jaskier shakily reached out a hand to touch Geralt’s face, to feel if he was real. Even that thing wasn’t able to smell like the person it took over. It had a nasty, acidic smell that made your guts spill over in your chest, and made you want to tear your eyeballs out. During his time with Fringilla, that thing had taken a liking to Jaskier, his smell, his body, and, his mind. 

* * *

_“We want you,” it had said in a wickedly seductive voice as it dug into Jaskier’s face, harshly too, leaving trails of blood in its wake. “To devour you, to own you, to be you. You have a pretty voice. We will use you to attract more hosts… ah, even that Witcher friend of yours. To take over a Witcher, ah, how divine that would be.”_

_Jaskier’s eyes had blazed with an unspoken anger and rage. How dare they speak of his assets like that! To even suggest to use his beautiful voice to lure their victims! When Geralt finally finds him, and he will, he and that sorceress witch of his, oh they were so going to get it!_

_“You really are a fool,” he had spoken in a hysterical voice. “You will never be able to take on Geralt! He had fought worse than you, and even they, had fallen to his feet and begged for mercy, but he still brought his blade down on them. How do you think he will feel when he hears that you have taken his bard, albeit a very attractive, with a voice of the angels best friend?”_

_The thing had smiled; its eyes almost laughing at him. “Oh, darling,” it began in a seductive voice that sent chills down Jaskier’s spine, “that Witcher doesn’t care for you like you do for him. Ah, you’re nothing but donkey shit beneath his boots.”_

_“If I’m donkey shit to Geralt,” Jaskier said, almost wanting to slap that blasted fool for calling him that, but he was restrained with heavy chains, wrapped too tightly against his arms, legs, and stomach, so tight that they were digging into his skin, “why are you so certain that he would return for me?”_

_He almost hissed at the pain when the thing pressed on the chains around his stomach area. But he didn’t. Why would he give that ugly, heinous thing the satisfaction of knowing how much pain he was in? That didn’t work so well in the beginning; he had the scars and bite marks to prove it._

_“Oh, darling, your Witcher will come, but not because he cares for you.” He laughed viciously. “Oh, he will come to finish you to spare you after he sees what a pathetic excuse of a human you have became. Only we won’t let him.” A dangerously dark look crossed its face. “You see, darling, we will offer him a cure to ‘fix’ you, but only if he gave us his body, mind, and soul. And then we will dance around in his body, taunting you, torturing you, until we drive you mad, and you beg us to end your life, and give us control over your body, mind, and soul. That is our promise to you and we always keep our promises.”_

_Jaskier blanched. “You… you NEED to DIE!” he said in a high voice. “Geralt will end you, you daft fool! Just wait and see. I know he will.”_

_“Darling, you think very highly of your Witcher.” It leaned in closer to Jaskier, its lips almost touching Jaskier’s face. “Do remember this, when your Witcher is dead, it will be all your fault.”_

_Jaskier’s heart froze in his chest. No, that wouldn’t happen. And even if it did, Geralt would never succumb to giving in to that thing’s wishes, right?_

* * *

“Jaskier.” Warm, strong hands pulled him in until he was pressed against a brick-hard, awful smelling armor of sorts. “Breathe.”

Jaskier looked up, eyes big and round, as he met Geralt’s striking yellow eyes. They were so worried, so concerned… no, it wasn’t Geralt! Geralt’s eyes were always unreadable. It was that thing. It had come back to fulfill its promise. Jaskier’s heart jumped up to his throat, his body started shaking, and he was shivering all over. He felt numb, as if he could no longer breathe, and the bar became a speck of dust in the far distance.

More than anything, Jaskier wanted to move away, but it was as if he was frozen, stuck to the one place. He had only felt this way when he first escaped Fringilla’s den, and sometimes, he would dream he was at that awful place, and he would wake up in cold sweats, with a pain unlike no other in his chest.

“Jaskier, listen to me.” Fake Geralt’s deep grated voice forced Jaskier to look up at him again, to stare into those warm eyes, to get lost into them, but those weren’t his Witcher’s eyes. That only increased the pain in his chest. “Breathe with me. One, two, three. Shit, I’m no good at this. Jaskier, you damn insufferable fool, take a moment to breathe before you drive yourself to an early grave!”

Jaskier blinked, not seeing, or hearing anything, but the too fast, too sudden, beating of his heart. In the far distance of his mind, he believed he smelled something most pleasant, like the strong scent of wonderfully aged ale, and the stench of dried blood mixed together with a forest-y scent. Through the smoky clouds, he was unable to reach it. It was too foggy and impenetrable. 

“Oh, damn you, Jaskier!” Geralt pressed the mug of ale closer to Jaskier’s nose, hoping to get a reaction, but Jaskier’s face remained as pale and in deep pain as before. “Wake up. I… I’m sorry for what I said to you. I was angry. I should have never said any of those things to you. I needed an outlet for my frustrations and you were there. I… please forgive me or don’t. Hit me if you must. I don’t mind which one you decide to do, but you must wake up first to make a decision.”

Jaskier remained unresponsive. If anything, his face contorted into terrible grief.

A noise. It was too loud. It hurt his ears. Why wouldn’t it shut up and let Jaskier rest? His body was aching so badly. He wanted to curl up on himself and rest. He was, oh, so very tired. 

He was tired of it all. Of the nightmares, of the bitter cold, of the hunger, of the loneliness, of driving Geralt, his Witcher, his only friend away. And most of all, he wanted to sing, to talk, to joke again! None of which he could. His cheeks felt wet. Was he sobbing? Sometimes he would wake up and his hands would be drenched with tears. He had cried before, lots of time, but never cried himself to sleep before. He hadn’t needed to do that. His life wasn’t perfect but he had his music, his voice, and his lovers to make him feel as if he had a place in the world, as if he truly belonged there, and wasn’t just another person lost to the corrupted, poverty driven place he called home.

Now, he was alone, and for the first time, Jaskier felt like he had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. 

Jaskier didn’t realize that he was making sounds, unintelligent as they were, they were still sounds. “Jaskier!” Warm. He felt warm, as if he was being engulfed in fire. “I don’t understand. What are you trying to say? Open your eyes, you damn bard!”

A sigh. “Geralt.” A woman’s voice. Was it one of his lovers? No, this woman sounded too bitter and too hard. His lovers had soft, light airy voices. Then who was she? “Come, let’s go to camp. I believe I know what ails him. I can’t heal him, not entirely, but I can help lessen the pain.”

“Yen. Why can’t you heal him? What have that sorceress and that doppler done to him?”

“This isn’t the place to talk about that. I’ll tell you at camp. Do you need help lifting him?”

Geralt shook his head. “I’m fine, Yen. I can do it.”Sliding a hand between Jaskier’s waist and buttocks, Geralt lifted him up. “I never told him, Yen, but I liked his singing even if it sometimes made me want to plunge my dagger deep into his heart.”

Yen laughed. “When he wakes, you will tell him so.”

Geralt grunted. “They targeted him because of me. I tainted everything around me. I’m not…”

“Geralt, don’t,” she warned him, eyes blazing with fire. “You’re a good, decent man. Don’t you ever let anyone including yourself tell you otherwise!”

Geralt gave her a small smile settling for silence for the rest of their journey to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly surprised anyone actually read this so far! Thanks for the support. And no, Jaskier hasn't regained his voice. Btw, if you read that previous chapter I had posted and kept up for like 15 mins, I apologize. It was just a really bad chapter. I had to get rid of it. Also, happy 2020!!


	3. camp

Geralt lifted Jaskier off Roach once they reached camp. He had fallen asleep near the end of their journey after exhausting himself with the continuously thrashings and quiet heart-wrenching sobs.

Something broke a little in Geralt seeing Jaskier like that. Many had called him cold, heartless, emotionless. Feelings were not lost to him completely. He was able to feel most of the things humans did; love, pain, and loss. However, compared to humans, the things he felt were like a dull, chirping of an old, tired bird. Geralt didn’t fully grasp the concept of emotions and feelings; it wasn’t something that he had ever bothered with before. There were never a need to before.

With Yen, he could put a cork on his emotions. He loved her, still does, he knew that much. When he was with her, he had felt things, like a light kiss with Yen ignited a dull roaring fire inside of him, making love with her thawed out the frozen edges around his heart, and being with her, just talking and laughing with Yen made him feel alive again, not simply existing.

She never treated him like he was a fleck of horse dung that anyone can wipe off the cold, dullness grass. Yet with Yen, something was missing, had always been. They completed each other so well, and still, they both couldn’t close that empty, gaping hole in their hearts. They never might. At least not with each other.

Looking at Jaskier — the way his ribs poked out under his worn-out shirt, the greasy color of his hair, and the hollow sunken shape of his face — it dawned on him that he had failed Jaskier, the one person who only ever saw the best in him. He regretted saying those things. At that time, he was angry and he needed an outlet to release that rage, and Jaskier was just there. He meant none of those things, but nevertheless he said them, and that was something he will never be able to take back.

All he could do now was to help Jaskier recover and return to a state where he was able to be his sickly sweet, lyrical self again. Holding in a frustrating grunt, as not to disturb Jaskier from his rest, Geralt took him to his tent. Settling him down on the cot, he brushed a strand of hair off Jaskier’s face, eliciting a moan from the bard in obvious discomfort.

Geralt sighed softly, not quite moving his hand away from Jaskier’s face, but also not touching at the same time. “I am sorry,” he let out in a soft voice, bringing the thick, wool blanket over Jasker’s form.

Just as he was about to leave, Jaskier let out a quiet moan, and both of his hands clamped down hard on Geralt’s.

Geralt looked at Jaskier’s hands. It would be very easy for him to detach Jaskier’s hands from his, but he didn’t have it in his heart to do that. Instead, he took off his armor with his free hand, settle down next to Jaskier on the cot (his body was mostly on the ground), which Jaskier took as incentive to roll over closer to him, using Geralt’s chest as his own personal body pillow. A thin, worn-out smile crossed Geralt’s face at the action, and somehow, somewhere along the line, Geralt found himself rubbing his hand through Jaskier’s hair in avery soothing way, the way he had done to Yen when they were together. 

* * *

Morning came too fast, too sudden, and Geralt had to lift a hand to block the blinding light from his eyes. After that was over with, he felt around for Jaskier, but his side while warm was vacant. He looked after and found Jaskier hiding all the way to the other side of the tent, a dagger in his shaking hands pointing right at Geralt, a frightened look in his eyes.

Fuck. Geralt had left his dagger. Moving slowly but carefully, Geralt approached Jaskier, but he only kept on backing away further, body now shaking with fright. That wasn’t good.

“Jaskier,” he said softly, reaching for him, but then retracting his hands away when he saw how terrified Jaskier grew at the action. “I’m not going to hurt you. Give me the dagger.”

Jaskier shook his head, crashing into Geralt’s weapons’ collection: a couple of daggers, swords, and a set of bow and arrows he had received from his elven lover many moons ago. 

‘Fuck.” In the blink of an eye, Geralt was at Jaskier’s side, catching him before he got seriously injured. Jaskier looked up at him in confusion, eyes big and round, like those of an innocent child.

Jaskier clutched at the sleeves at his shirt, opening his mouth to say something, but all that came out of his mouth was gargled sounds.

“What is it?” Geralt asked, reaching for the flask. “Are you thirsty?” He passed the flask of ale over to Jaskier. He gladly took the flask and gulped it all down in one mouthful, choking in the process. “Damn it, Jaskier, are you trying to kill yourself?!” 

He hadn’t meant to be harsh, but Jaskier dropped the flask in an instance, and struggled in his hold. Fuck. Why was he so bad at this?

“I’m not going to harm you,” he said gently, releasing his hold on Jaskier, who quickly scrambled away from him. “I only meant you shouldn’t drink that much that fast.”

Jaskier eyed him warily. He bit his lower lips, and for odd reasons, that got a reaction from Geralt’s cock. Fuck. He would have to look into that later. Now wasn’t the time for that, but truly, _Jaskier?_ Geralt chuckled at the thought. 

“Come with me,” Geralt simply said when Jaskier stood there, still, unmoving, opting out of speaking, which struck Geralt as odd. If there was one thing that Jaskier cannot and will not do, it was to stop talking, and singing those deafening yet catchy songs of his. “You must be hungry.”

At the promise of food, Jaskier perked up, and followed Geralt out of the tent. Yennefer was already up, looking as bright and radiant as ever.

She greeted Geralt with a kiss on the cheeks. “You slept well?” She returned her focus on the three strings of meat she was roasting over the fire. Deer, Geralt reckoned. 

“Yes.” And he realized for the first time since he parted ways with Yennefer, he slept soundly and peacefully. He felt lighter and freer as if he was able to breathe for the first time in a very long time.

“Good. You needed it.” She looked over at Jaskier, handed him a drink, which he refused to accept. It smelled of piss and vomit. “Drink.”

Jaskier looked at the cup, offended. He folded his arms across his chest, lifted his head up in a haughty way, and looked away.

Geralt chuckled but then stopped when Yennefer gave him a look, daring him to continue laughing at her if he wanted to survive to see the next sunrise.

“I’m not asking if you want to drink this—” She moved closer to Jaskier and opened his mouth. “I’m telling you to drink this!” She forced the substance down his throat. He tried to spit the vile drink out of his mouth, but Yennefer wouldn’t have it, and remained with him until he drank every last drop.

“Yen, did you have to do that?” He walked next to her, leaving a highly offended Jaskier behind who brought his finger to his neck and made a cutting gesture toward Yennefer, but no words came out of his mouth. And that seemed to frustrate him a great deal. “What if he had died?”

“Died? Really, Geralt? You believe he would died from drinking a foul-smelling drink?” She raised a brow. “He is fine.” She paused for a moment and sighed. “While you were sleeping, I went to gather the needed ingredients to help lessen the pain that he is in.”

“What ails him, Yen?” 

Yennefer stopped walking. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “The remedy is to help his body heal. His bones are frozen deep to the core, Geralt.”

“How is that possible?” Geralt took a quick glance over at Jaskier. “He seems fine.” He grunted.

“He might appear so, but something isn’t right with him. He has no heartbeat, Geralt. His heart is stone cold.”

“I don’t understand. How can that be?”

“I don’t know. I have to examine him to know more. I believe,” she said, “the doppler had taken a piece of his soul with it. Along with it, his voice.” Her voice almost cracked at the end but she quickly recovered. 

“That is not possible.” Geralt took a deep breath. “A doppler cannot control you if it isn’t in possession of your body, which you have to give over willingly.”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed them gently. 

“He gave up control. Why?”

“You know I can’t answer that question.” She gave him a small smile and looked over at Jaskier who was stomping his feet very loudly on the wet, grass. “You have to ask him, that is, if he remembers, or wants to remember his time with Fringilla.” 

“Hmm…” _Why had you taken me serious and left, you dumb bard? Why didn’t you stay? At least then I would have known you were safe._

* * *

To take his mind off what he had just learned, Geralt took a seat around the fire, leaving Yennefer behind. Jaskier joined him as soon as he sat down.

Geralt removed one of the strings of deer meat from the fire, breaking in into little pieces, but he wasn’t hungry. Instead, he gave them, piece by piece, to Jaskier. Jaskier sniffed the meat before he shoved it into his mouth.

He made no attempt to ask for more, but Geralt passed him more meat after he finished eating the previous ones. And so they remained, Jaskier ravishing the pieces of meat as if it were his last meal, and Geralt wondering what the fuck would anyone gain by harming Jaskier? Sure, he was a dumb bard who didn’t know when to shut up, but what if Fringilla and the doppler had targeted him because of Geralt.

Lost deep in his thoughts, Geralt hadn’t noticed when his hand closed around Jaskier’s cold one who didn’t seem too bothered by it. That didn’t went unnoticed by Yennefer and she smiled at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Jaskier's POV. :(


	4. bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Past non-consensual touching (it's briefly mentioned in one line)

The sun had completed more than half day of its journey across the sky, snuggling beneath the foggy clouds, by the time Jaskier’s belly was full and his heart content. And yet, he wondered if this was all a dream, a wonderful dream, and he would wake up, find his face stuffed with raw rats and other gnarly things.

Just thinking of the dead, diseased rats he had been feeding his malnourished body when the berries weren’t available made him heave, and he threw up everything he had eaten in the past hour until his eyes were watery, and his throat ached terribly.

But there were warm hands on the small of his back, gruff yet sweet words being whispered in his ears. After his stomach had settled, he turned around, and found himself staring in his Witcher’s memorizing eyes.

“Thought you’d never done with the vomiting.” Geralt’s voice held a bit of chuckle in it. “I shouldn’t have let you eat that much.”

Jaskier titled his head and saw Yennefer in the corner chopping up woods. _Oh, please, if this isn’t a dream, don’t let her feed me that foul potion again, Geralt_ , he begged with his eyes. 

“You need another dosage in six hours,” she told him, not looking up from her activity.

_What_? If that witch was here — he’d never have conquered up Yennefer in his dreams — then he was really here. He jumped for joy… and stepped right into his own puddle of vomit.

He opened his mouth and made a dramatic sigh. That was new. He made a sound! His eyes twinkled with joy. 

“You need a bath.” Geralt chuckled deeply. “Come with me, there is a stream, not too far from here.”

_A bath, yes! How badly he needs one,_ he wanted to say, but then he remembered the last time he had a bath. He can still feel the doppler’s hands roaming around his body, touching his most intimate areas, leaving him feeling dirty and violated. He shuddered with a violet shake. He couldn’t… wouldn’t go through that again! His eyes blew up with fear and panic.

No, no, no! He kept on repeating the mantra in his head.

“Hey.” Geralt reached over and stroked his face gently. Jaskier flinched at his touch. How he had longed to feel another’s touch, but feeling it now, he wanted nothing more than to run and run until he was in a safe room filled with only his music. “You’re with me, Jaskier. I wouldn’t hurt you. If you don’t want that bath, I wouldn’t force you to get it.”

Jaskier warily lifted his head up and stared right into Geralt’s eyes. A low, throaty sound escaped from his throat. Jaskier, oh, so, desperately wanted a bath, to wash away the filth, the sins that came from that place. He wanted to cleanse his soul, body, and mind, so he can finally be himself again. Be at peace.

Shaking his head, he took Geralt’s hand, placed it on his chest, and looked off into the distance where the trees carved a path to the streams. 

_I want to,_ the words graced his lips beneath the full scope of his beard, _but only if you’re there with me._ He moved Geralt’s hand from his chest to his greasy, long flowing hair, to his skin caked with dried blood, filth, and dirt.

“Hmm, a bath then,” Geralt murmured. He looked at Jaskier’s hair and beard. “And a haircut and a shave, too.”

Jaskier nodded. He needed to be himself again. The first step to that was to feel clean again, get rid of the hair and beard. The doppler… it loved to play with Jaskier’s hair once it grew out. Said it was pretty and soft. Jaskier wanted nothing to do with that. 

“Alright then.” Geralt took slow steps into the woods, Jaskier following right behind, before he stopped for a bit. “Yen, you’re good here?”

She gave him a pointed look. “Yes, Geralt, go,” she said. “Wait,” she called to him when he resumed walking. He stopped. “Take this.” _Use it on his injuries,_ went unsaid.She handed him a small vial.

Geralt hmmed, accepted the vial, much to Jaskier’s disbelief, and continued walking.

* * *

Jaskier was the first to gaze upon the stream. It was not magnificent at all. Dead wet leaves sticked to the ground like wet, soggy porridge. The stream gargled and sputtered like an old dying man, leaving droplets of water in its wake. Even the limestones looked dull and lifeless, broken and cracked in the middle, as if they were struggling to get free from their ultimate demise. 

It may not be a pretty sight, but the air smelled clean; the water was inviting; and the lilacs growing on the side of the stream offered a lovely, enriching smell.

Jaskier inhaled the clean scent, let it swirl around in his brain for a while before he finally had to breathe again. And for the first time, a genuine smile graced his lips, making him look years younger than his twenty nine of age. 

“Hmm.” Geralt braced back on the bark of a tree. “You should smile more.”

Jaskier’s smile fell instantly from his face. _Geralt,_ he closed his eyes, _you never complimented me before. Y—you’re pitying me?_ _Please don’t do that. I don’t need that._ His heart snapped like two twigs in his chest.

A long sigh from Geralt. “Did I say the wrong thing?” He had moved away from the tree and was standing right next to Jaskier. His hands were around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him in for an awkward embrace. “I don’t understand emotions that well. It has been a long time since I was a human, and not a Witcher.”

Jaskier swallowed, burying his pain deep within him, settling for half a smile, half a grimace. It seemed that in the moment, Geralt needed him to be happy, normal, and so he settled for just that.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, as he moved away from the embrace, his hands resting by his side. “Don’t show me what you think I want to see.”

Jaskier lowered his gaze to the ground. _I’m sorry,_ he moved one foot across the grass.

Geralt cupped his face in his hands, forcing him to look up. “You can let—” Geralt struggled to find the right words. “—your emotions out. I might not understand them, but I might be able to help you.”

Jaskier blinked and nodded. 

Moving away from Geralt, he unbuttoned his shirt, his hands shaking.

“Jaskier,” Geralt went on. 

Jaskier paid no attention to him, finishing his task. He removed the shirt from his body, letting it fall gently to the ground. His chest was tattooed with various cuts and bruises from deep purple to moldy yellow colors. Some were scabbed while others were infected. 

Gingerly, he reached for Geralt’s hand, placing it over the various bruises, cuts, and scars. Geralt’s eyes burned, a fierce shade of yellow, but Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes, and shook his head. _No, don’t get angry, please,_ his eyes said.

“How the—” Geralt’s hand moved until it reached a deep, long line — it was an incision mark. His thumb roamed over the cut in a loving, soothing way. A low, painful whine escaped from Jaskier’s throat. The cut hadn’t been sewn up properly — the seams of the stitches coming apart — and Geralt had unknowingly upset it.

“Fuck. I’m—”

Jaskier placed his finger on Geralt’s lips, silencing him. He gave him a small smile. _It’s okay._

Geralt continued with the exploration of Jaskier's scars. He bent down, pressing his face against Jaskier's chest, dusted with light, black curly hair. His warm breath on Jaskier's chest felt most wondrous. Jaskier bit back a moan at the sudden spike of pleasure that the action brought.

"That mark," he said, pressing his face against Jaskier's naval, "it's a burn mark. They burned you?"

Jaskier wanted so badly to curl in on himself. Just having Geralt looking at his scars in an intimate manner wanted him to pick up his things and run away. Each of his scars had a story behind them, and he wasn't so sure he was ready to share them with anyone, including Geralt.

"Hey." Geralt reached for his hands, brushing his lips over them in a gentle, caring manner. "When you're ready to share your story with me, I'll be glad to hear it. For now, come with me." He got up from his earlier position from the ground, removing his hands from Jaskier's. "You need that bath. If I return, and you haven't taken your bath, Yen will have my head."

Jaskier swallowed thickly, and with shaking hands, he started to remove his trousers, but he was having a difficult time slipping out of them. His hands felt too weak, too numb, and his entire body was shaking. Before, he could easily slip out of his clothes. By golly, he had done it many times before when his lovers' husbands (he wasn't proud of the fact he slept with married women) or fathers would return. Now, doing it in front of Geralt, he felt ashamed of himself, and terrified of what Geralt thought of him now, seeing him so exposed.

A hand rest upon his shoulders. "Would you like my help?" Geralt asked, opting to turn away when Jaskier managed to unbutton the button on his trousers. "I should leave you to your privacy."

Jaskier bit his lower lip. Slowly but surely, he slipped out of his trousers until he was left in only his breeches. Right then, a cool breeze blew over him, and it sent his teeth chattering away like a noisy raccoon in the night.

Once he recovered from the sudden cold, he reached for Geralt's hand, and grabbed his pinkie. Geralt made a low grunt and slowly turned his head around. 

"You want me to go with you?" He searched Jaskier's face for answers. "Would you rather not take a bath privately away from anyone's eyes including mine?"

Jaskier squeezed Geralt's pinkie hard.

"Alright, no, then." Geralt let out a low chuckle. "I'll stand watch then."

Jaskier squeezed Geralt's pinkie hard again.

"No? You want me to go in with you?" He locked gaze with Jaskier. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

Jaskier squeezed Geralt's pinkie hard a third time that day.

"Alright then."

Jaskier opted for nodding this time. Removing his hand from Geralt's pinkie, he waited for the Witcher to undress, and join him in the bath. It didn't take that long for Geralt to remove his coat, his boots, his shirt, leaving his chest bare. However, he chose to keep his pants on.

"Tell me when you're ready."

Jaskier took that as notion to walk toward the stream, Geralt followed him. Dipping his feet in the water to test the temperature, Jaskier slowly lowered his body in the water. The water streamed down on his skin, washing away the dirt and filth away from his body. 

"You need this." Geralt handed him a loofah lathered with soap. He, too, got into the water, and stood a respectable distance away from Jaskier.

Jaskier accepted the loofah and used it to scrub away the grim and dried up blood away from his body. He scrubbed until his skin was pink and tender to the touch. The water felt heavenly on his body and offered a pleasure like no other.

Unable to reach his back, Jaskier let out a frustrated groan. His cheeks were soon soaked with bitter, angry tears.

"Don't." Geralt moved closer to him, wiping the tears off his cheeks. "Here, let me help."

Jaskier hesitantly passed the loofah over to him. Geralt took it, and with gentle, soft strokes, he started washing Jaskier's back until no dirt was left. He ducked the loofah in the water; the water was now a messy brown-red color filled with dirt, grime, and blood.

"You want to stay longer?" Geralt asked him after he was finished with his bath.

Jaskier turned around and shook his head. Holding a hand out, Geralt lifted Jaskier out of the water, settling him on the dry ground. Sifting through his stuff, Geralt found a small blade. He held it out to Jaskier who clumsily accepted it. 

Unsure of what to do with it, Jaskier looked at it, and then at Geralt.

"You would like me to...?" He didn't need to finish the rest of his sentence. "Alright then. Turn around."

Jaskier did just that. Geralt got behind him, spreading his legs wide open, which Jaskier settled between. With nimble fingers, he worked toward shaving Jaskier's beard off. It was no easy task. The hair was stubborn and a tangled mess. Nevertheless, he managed to do it. Next, he worked on Jaskier's hair. Jaskier watched his hair fall off strand by strand, viewing that as leaving the ugly part of his life behind.

Now that his hair was short as it was before, and his face was beardless, he felt more like himself. Like the man he used to be before.

Not thinking about his decision, he leaned in closer to Geralt, and pressed his lips against Geralt's rough ones. It lasted less than a second but it felt nice. Jaskier's face reddened in embarrassment. 

Geralt chuckled and raised a brow. "I gather that's your way of thanking me? You didn't have to do that." His lips curved in a smile, a smile that was usually reserved for Yennefer. A soft and tender smile. "I have to apply this —"  He showed the vial that Yennefer had given him earlier to Jaskier. " —salve on your scars."

Jaskier opened his mouth and scoffed dramatically.

"Hold that thought." Geralt's witcher senses were on high alert. "Someone is here." Geralt picked up his shirt on the ground, signaling for Jaskier to remain behind him (who was still undressed except for his breeches). 

Jaskier looked down at his clothes, wanting nothing more than to cover himself up. 

"Here, wear this." Geralt handed Jaskier his shirt.

Jaskier looked at the long-sleeved black shirt and almost complained at how plain it was, but the thought left him as soon it appeared. Throwing the shirt over his head, it easily went over his body. It was oh, so big on him and it covered him from his shoulders all the way to just a couple of inches above his knees. He looked like a miniature version of Geralt.

Geralt shushed him. He wasn't making any sounds!

Just then the branches moved, but nothing stepped out from behind them. They waited for a while but nothing happened.

"I should look around, see if —"

A new voice joined them, one that Jaskier knew only too well.

“My, my, isn’t this a lovely sight?”

Jaskier’s heart stopped beating in his chest. It couldn’t be. That silky, velvety voice could only belong to one person, one creature . With great effort, he turned around, and found himself staring in midnight black eyes, belonging to the devil itself. And suddenly, all he could see was the doppler, its vicious face, and everything else disappeared from his view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That bath scene sucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://harry-lloyds.tumblr.com) Maybe tell me about your rare pairs from TW (from the show, books, or games). I accept prompts if you want to send any. I have some fics that need some updating but anytime I watch anything new, I'm a bit too into it for a while. This is a short fic because I don't trust myself to start anything new (and that lengthy fic is dedicated to my crack ship of Geralt/Max; it's my world right now, lol)


End file.
